Friday, June 3, 2016

I think it's time for Sticky Situation Girl to come to a close.

Yes.
I think it's about time.
Why? Because I don't want to be below par anymore. I want good writing, and If I can't do it here, I won't.
It's not fair.
To you.
Yes, you who is reading this right now. You.
Are you a regular reader? Do you come visit me in my little corner of the Internet often? My guess would probably be no.
Don't feel like you have to catch up. Don't go back and hurriedly reading through all 18 posts.
19 including this one.
Why not catch up?
Because you don't have to.
This blog has, as I said before, reached it's final performance.
It's over now. And I couldn't be more relieved.
Not because I didn't like blogging on SSG. I loved it. I still do.
It's because other things I love more. I have certain parts of my life I must keep in my life.
Family.
Friends.
School.
Fashion.
Sewing.
Fashion teal.
All of these, and more, are what I must keep close to me, as a part of my life. SSG is still going to be a part of my life, what made me me, but it just won't be a continuing presence.
And that's okay.
Why am I relieved about the closing of this blog, this final post?
Because I knew I wasn't giving this blog my all.
Many people might describe me to be a purposive and determined person. I do stuff with a purpose and a resolve to do it well.
I need 100% effort to feel okay with myself.
SSG wasn't 100%, and through the several months after starting the blog up until now, and I knew this.
But I loved SSG.
Loved it.
I wanted to keep going.
So I did the unthinkable.
I pushed through the slump and produced work that was okay.
Okay.
Not superb.
That's not 100%.
I had to take a good look at what I was doing, and I realized I couldn't go on knowing this wasn't a devotion of my entire mind and heart.
So what do I do?
Close.
That's what I'm doing now.


So, goodbye.
Nice knowing you. Nice seeing you.
Hope you come across a little site in the corner of the Internet like mine soon.
And maybe you'll read it. Maybe not.
I hope you do.

Well, from me and my blog Sticky Situation Girl, we say goodbye and maybe we'll see you around.
Remember, if there's a predicament, there's always a girl with a blog to help.
Thanks for reading.
Bye.

Tuesday, January 12, 2016

Why does it have to be anything at all?

That's what I ask.
Why, I ask.
Why police brutality.
Why fatal shootings.
Why national media attention for a cause that just won't resolve.
Why does it have to be like this.
I know it doesn't have to be like this, but it clearly isn't another way. The other way is yet to be found, yet to be put into place. The other way isn't what we have now. The other way isn't fear.
The other way is peace.
It's hard to imagine it another way, isn't it? The safe way, where people greet the police officers, not beat them. A way of care, not fear. A way with no weapons to kill someone, ending their life. A way of feeling a sense of security even when seeing a police officer with a gun in their holster.
A way of peace.
Why can't we fix this fatal, messy problem? Why do innocent men have to keep being shot down in the streets, and for what? Because they did one thing wrong?
People shouldn't be murdered for a mistake.
Mistakes can change a person.
Mistakes change lives.
Mistakes change you.
Why get murdered for a mistake.

But in a way, do some people see murder for mistakes as a way of good?
That people would rather get killed than live the rest of their lives with the haunting guilt of a life gone wrong? Opportunities gone? A deep, dark hole with nowhere to escape to but a deeper, darker hole of the wrong done in their heart?
Who wants to live in a deep, dark, hole?
Of guilt.
But who wants to die.
Not by their choosing.
But by the choosing of the so called "protection" of people.
I ask.
How can you protect the people that you are so fatally shooting away?
How can you protect what you don't have? And what does that do for the people that you do have left?
It creates fear.
Do I know someone that's going to be next?
Am I next?
The nation needs to ask themselves the question of how to solve such a problem with such large issues.
We need to ask ourselves this.
We need to do this.
We need to do this to save the life of the next person shot down by our "protection."
Maybe then, we can solve this problem.
Maybe then, it will become nothing at all.

Sunday, October 11, 2015

Traveling is good, but I like home, too.

I love to travel.
Everywhere.
Every place is a place to travel, whether you get on a plane or in a car or just walk. It's traveling.
Traveling is good.
You can learn from every place you go.
I love to travel.
But I also like to come home.
Coming home is coming to the place where you belong. Coming to the place where you can laugh, talk, sit, stand, cry, plot, scheme. Where you can be you.
You can be you at home.
Not always when you travel.
In my experience with going to places, traveling, I have had to be polite to everyone I meet. I have had to use manners, use "Please" and "Thank you" with everyone, everywhere. I had to have a good impression, because I never knew where else I would stumble into them, and then I would have to be nice to them all over again. I would have to use manners, and smile, and be cheery, so their first impression of me would be confirmed. I had to be the nicest version of me possible.
I had to be a nice girl.
I couldn't tell them about dark things.
Things that trouble me.
I couldn't tell them about my Horrible Predicament. And I didn't want to.
I still don't.
But when you travel, you are expected to lap up every sight, be on the move every day, see all the sights that are offered. You aren't supposed to get bored when you travel. You are supposed to be interested, and have the best time. It's supposed to be fun.
Supposed to.
What do you want when you travel? To have a good time, or to think about home? I want to do both. I want to travel and enjoy, but to never replace travel with home.
Because after all, when you travel, whether you have a suitcase in hand or not, whether you are on a plane or not, you will always come back to the place where you came from.
And that place is home.
When I get back from  traveling, I think about what I did, and if I miss doing it or not, and I reflect. I am in a mood for travel for a few days, but I need to settle.
I must settle.
I am home now.
You can be you at home.
And that's the best feeling, to know that there will always be a place that you can call home, a place to be yourself without worrying about impressions.
Traveling is fun and lovely and great and interesting and life-changing, but home is home.
I like home as well.
Don't you?

Saturday, September 5, 2015

Colors and feelings within a poem.

Apple

Apples are
Fruits,
That are Red
Like a fire engine,
Or great Love,
Or a blush
Set upon the cheeks of
One Embarrassed,
Red
Is the color of an Apple.

Gray is a Color,
Of Sad,
And Dull,
And Doom,
And the Ominous feeling
Of what's to come.
Gray stands for Lots,
Mostly sad,
Gray
Is the color of Sad.

How they are related,
There are colors,
That stand for Feelings,
That stand for Other Feelings,
Other Things,
What more is there?


 I hope this poem gets you thinking.
Of colors.
And feelings.
And how they are related.
Maybe the next time you see the color gray, you will think of it differently.
Maybe you'll become sad thinking about it.
Interesting.

Saturday, August 1, 2015

Making up for lost time is hard.

I don't like losing time.
Especially when it's time that I value.
Lost time is always hard to overcome, because you wonder: What did I miss? What will I miss from missing what I missed before?
And it hurts when there is a joke, or a story, or an event that happened when you weren't there, and everyone knows, and is swept up in the event without you. It hurts because they've been moving on.
They've moved on.
Without you.
Doesn't it hurt?
I always feel this way when I join something new, like a club or a site or a blog that has been operating before my joining. I wasn't a part of it starting, and I have missed the routines and habits before I joined. I wonder, what have I missed? And I frantically try to catch up and be part of all of it, and I end up not enjoying the joining part.
Maybe just starting the club or the site or the blog is a clean slate.
Maybe you can create something. Something big.
Maybe you can create a routine or habit.
I need to take this advice to heart, because I need to not rush into things.
You don't have to rush to become part of the event. Being new is fun.
Being new is exciting and being old is exciting too.
Both are exciting, and both bring great things. Both are great.
So when you just join something, remember. Remember everything I am telling you and tuck it all away and absorb it and make it part of you, hidden deep for you to pull out and consult with when in a situation like this. Don't rush.
Everything is screaming for you to slow down.
The journey is important too, so don't rush it to get to the destination. It's a lot like that.
The journey gets you there, and you learn a lot more from it then arriving and not needing to learn anything at all.
The journey is important too, so don't rush it to get to the destination.
Both are great.
Don't overestimate one because it seems better.
Both are great.
Remember that.
Both are great.
New and old.

Saturday, June 13, 2015

The tree in my front yard.

I think it has magical powers.
The tree, I mean.
Magical powers.
I think this because of how, well, magical I feel when I'm in that tree. Like nothing can bring me down. Like I'm on top of the world, looking down. Like all of the stress and excess feeling that I have felt today is now only a mirage, as a calm serenity settles over me, and I have a connection with the world. Like I am part of the bigger picture when I step into that tree, and I am airborne, soaring with the birds.
How does this tree speak to me in this way? Well, when I was younger, I really connected with that tree. I would eagerly climb into it's friendly branches, and it would welcome me.
I had never felt so welcome in my life.
When I was younger, I didn't have as much stress, but this tree made me feel whole again. Little parts of me that had broken off joined back again, as I was healed by the soft wind in my hair, the branches whispering my name, the way I was carried by the tree, held in it's long, graceful fingers.
And I would smile because I knew this tree, every dent and crevice.
Every dent and every crevice.
It felt like another home to me.
As I get older, this tree in my front yard sort of melted away, it's powers residing in my heart less and less. I don't know if it was school and it's demands, or just the spark from my early childhood being gone, but I didn't feel the magic of the tree like I did when I was small.
It's such a shame, because the tree is magical, to me, and I didn't notice when I had school, because other priorities kept me from experiencing that magic.
I don't remember when, I don't remember why, but I climbed into the tree recently, and the feeling that came over me was incredible.
The feeling.
It was amazing. I stared up into the tree, and I heard a voice in my head, calm and peaceful, saying to me, welcome home.
I was at home. My home.
And nothing felt better than that.
I have been climbing that tree more lately, sometimes with a book in hand to read up in the tree.
And now, I have my own special place, high in the tree.
But it doesn't mean I won't travel to other places in the tree. It doesn't mean I won't keep exploring.
I recently found a place, higher in the tree, where I can look into a "ring" formed by leaves and branches.
It's beautiful.
I feel powerful.
It is a bit scary sometimes. Sometimes, I feel the tree sway underneath me, but a small amount of fear is a small price I have to pay to experience what I feel in that tree. Power.
That tree is magical.

Friday, May 22, 2015

It's been a long time.

Long Time

Sinking feet into the unsteady sand,
Hearing bliss of the water curling and crashing, 
Feeling the hot sun burn my fragile skin,
I am home.
And I will be for a long time.

Looking at the horizon, speckled with thrown-on clouds,
Watching the sun go down as the tranquility descends upward,
Smelling the aroma of cool comfort settle over me,
I am home.
And I will stay for a long time.

The peace and quiet is torn by seagulls noisy catching-up-on,
But I don't mind,
Because they are my brothers and sisters,
Always my family and forever my family,
My setting is my home,
Where I will partake in for a long time.


This poem is about coming home, and staying. 
Staying.
For a long time.
Think about it. Can you relate to this? Is this a part of your life?
Will it ever be?
Because traveling can be exciting.
But coming home can be even better.
Coming home and staying.